Romance for a Lady
by Qwara
Summary: Oneshot. When it comes to love and romance, nothing is ever quite what it seems. AAML.


**Romance for a Lady**

_**by Qwara**_

The field was bright and warm, with a large shade tree situated in the center. On either side of the handsome willow laid patches of wildflowers; in the background there was the fantastic image of rolling hills stretching on to the horizon, which was streaked with the bold colors of a setting sun. A narrow lane wound through the meadow; upon which paced three personages, appearing perfectly tranquil and composed.

There were two males; one with thick, raven hair, which was only kept from absolute disarray from the aid of what must have been a great quantity of hair product; and the other with a copper complexion, small eyes, and prominent eyebrows. Each flanked a young lady, who had both of her arms occupied with one arm of each gentleman; she glanced back and forth between them with her soft turquoise eyes, sighing softly as they continued on.

The first male nudged his fair companion, and conducted the three of them beneath the shade tree. Each man detached his arm from the lady, and then spread out a checkered blanket for her to sit upon. She deigned to do so, delicately setting herself down upon it, twirling her parasol as she did so.

"Let me take that for you, Misty," whispered the dark-haired male into her ear. She nodded eagerly, and dropt the object into his hands; acknowledging him for but a moment, and then turning her head so that she once again stared upon some indistinct object in the distance.

"It is a fine evening to watch the sunset, is it not?" remarked the other male, after having acutely observed this interaction between the other two. Misty nodded her head.

"Indeed, but I fear it is a little hot." There was a pause, during which Misty glanced apprehensively at the raven-haired male's limp hand. Her gaze lingered upon it for a while; she pushed her fingers through her red hair as she did so; and then, apparently recollecting herself, turned back to the other man. "Indeed, I think it is, my darling."

"I should be sorry if you are feeling faint, dearest," returned the addressed, leaning in towards Misty so that his warm breath wafted upon her soft lips and pallid cheek. Misty gulped as her hand was claimed by him, the kid leather that gloved it being now firmly clasped.

"Perhaps you should fetch me a glass of water." Her words seemed to falter as she concluded the sentence. Again she turned to the other male, whose beady, dark eyes seemed to glow with animosity; but he kept his thin lips firmly closed—subsequently, a sterner expression could not be achieved in any way more effective.

Misty sat between them, again staring into the distance; her eyes seemed almost glazed over as she did this; but then, as she grew impatient, she quickly turned to the one whom she had ordered in the gentlest and most obliging way possible to procure her some water.

"Brock," murmured Misty hastily into his ear, "you should go now. And say, 'Of course—of course, my love'."

With a sudden look of comprehension, Brock reanimated.

"Of course—of course, my love." He stood and moved away; the two remaining watched as he did so, sitting completely still till he was entirely out of sight.

Misty stood, beginning to walk round, now. She kept looking at that object that seemed to have fascinated her since she had come to the field, gazing at it periodically; she seemed apprehensive, nervous. But then she sat again, and said after exhaling a deep breath:

"We mustn't wait any longer."

There was silence; not a bird twittered in the tree, nor did a gentle zephyr disturb the eerie serenity of their sitting place.

"You blockhead, Ash! Get on with it," urged Misty _sotto voce_. Ash abruptly shifted in his seat, taking off his gloves and wringing them in his hands.

"I know. Quickly we must depart, lest we should be discovered."

"It is certain we shall be discovered if we do not leave this instant!" Misty sounded frantic now, as she threw up her hands in the air to indicate the fear that coursed through her veins. "My fiancé will return any moment—and if he knew—you know what consequences we would both be subjected to."

"I know, I know," replied Ash, staring deep into Misty's eyes. He tentatively raised his hand to her cheek, which flushed with color as he softly stroked it.

"You see," said Misty softly, "_he_ cannot bring warmth to this complexion; it is only your touch which awakens my soul; you are the soul possessor of my heart. And that is why I must forsake everything that is my destiny. I save myself from utter ruin, utter despair, when I speak your name in this loving tongue."

"Please," cried he, huskily; "please save me from this bitter agony. With every touch of your soft skin, when I know it belongs rightfully to another; it tears the very fiber of my being apart. I long to kiss your soft lips, and caress your rosy cheek, without the pain of betrayal staining the both of us; I wish that I had not stolen you, but gained your approbation legitimately, and—"

"You have! You have gained it legitimately. He is nothing to me. The only thing he understands is wealth. But you—you understand _me_."

They were both standing now, firmly clasping each other's hands, as they stared earnestly into each other's eyes. This gaze seemed more than just an examination of the superficial features of the eye; they penetrated each other's souls, and comprehended every idiosyncrasy of their personality, by a mere glance, a simple gesture. Ash pulled Misty nearer him, so that their noses briefly grazed each other.

"I love you," said a trembling Misty, as she brought her lips to Ash's, and they softly kissed. They drew away from each other.

Brock could be seen standing a little distance away behind the willow tree, with clenched fists and a shattered glass of water at his feet.

"I love you too, Lady Bethanie."

The mahogany curtain swiftly closed, as the formerly dimmed lights in the auditorium illuminated the many rows of seats and various aisles that cut through them. The crowd erupted in hearty applause, mingled with a few cheers, as the enthusiastic fans appreciated the actors who dramatized the tragic tale of a haughty heiress' love affair.

"But what happens next? It doesn't seem like Lady Bethanie and Gregory are going to get away!" whined a girl in the audience, whose head was against her mother's shoulder. The mother shrugged her off, and turned towards her daughter with a censuring eye.

"Emily! That is why this play is so popular. It allows you to envision the ending for yourself."

"That's stupid," huffed the girl, crossing her arms.

"Look, the lead actors are coming back on stage," cried the mother, honoring them with a standing ovation as the curtain once again was pulled open to reveal the bowing and curtseying cast.

"At least they didn't seem to notice you two goons forgetting or screwing up your lines," muttered Misty, with a smile plastered across her face as she gazed once again into the audience whilst she recovered from a curtsey.

"Yeah, well, this is the third time I've had to kiss you this week. It's so gross!" complained Ash.

"And how do you think I feel?" said an irritated Misty, glowering at her co-star. _But I suppose I don't receive such a hefty salary for nothing._

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_a/n: In case you haven't figured it out yet, this story mocks shippings, particularly Pokéshipping. If you're a fan of AAML, I hope you weren't offended by my poking fun at it. xD Feedback's appreciated._


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